All too Soon We will Greet the White of Winter's Might
It is cool and bright in the blue mountains.
The deep chill of night has moved, settled
down into the valley. The morning sun
spreads her arms over and around, painting
with nature’s brushstrokes. Like a watercolor
framed in autumn’s colors, it is a gift.
Still, quiet, peaceful like, I walk around
leaves: yellow, red, rust, and brown, they waiting.
Many have fallen to welcoming ground,
protection’s blanket for nature’s seedlings.
‘Tis season’s own version of a healthy
need to relax, contemplate, hibernate.
My heart skips to the tune of earth’s blessings.
My lips are singing a song, the stanzas
not yet formed, neither notes upon a page
nor played by musicians, nor ever sung
by any, except those who dare to leave
behind, the weary world’s loud noises.
I welcome you, O, peaceful morning. Your
gift of joy is mine for the taking. Rest
and relief you bring to my soul. You
remind me to shine down, and all around.
I embrace you, and, unlike sun who asks
Nothing, I pray God that the world be at peace.
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Comments about this poem (All too Soon We will Greet the White of Winter's Might by Jackie Allen )
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A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- If, Rudyard Kipling